


Skin I've Been Through Dies Behind Me

by ariadnes_string



Category: Copper
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Double Penetration, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/pseuds/ariadnes_string
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eva invites Corky and Maguire into her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin I've Been Through Dies Behind Me

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: for the "double penetration" square on my kink_bingo card  
> a/n: title from the Townes Van Zandt song "Snake Song," but I was mostly thinking of Emmy Lou Harris's recent cover of the song in _Lawless_  
>  a/n: SPOILERS through episode 4.

Eva leaned her elbows on the railing, surveying the room below. A good night, just loud enough. 

She let her eyes linger on Corky, propping up the bar, Maguire beside him. Their perennial third, O’Brien, had just shoved off home to his wife. As she watched, Corky gestured at the bartender for another round, nudging his shoulder into Maguire’s, as if his sheer proximity would be a comfort to the man. It probably was, at that.

Eva knew another woman might feel some guilt over the man’s sorrow. She did not. Francis was a good soul, and if anything, she’d done him a service, freeing him from that lying bitch.

A shard of bitterness pierced her, and she had to school her face back to the benevolent, professional smile proper to the setting.

A smile she was thankfully still wearing when Corky glanced up to find her. He seemed a bit the worse for wear from drink, still wearing the tender look he’d been giving his friend. She liked him like that: soft, a little sloppy. 

Her smile turning real, she beckoned him with a tilt of her head. He gave Maguire’s bicep a reassuring squeeze and stumbled to his feet with gratifying speed.

“Why don’t you come on up, now,” she said, when he got close enough to touch, hand on the rough fabric of his vest over his heart. “Bring Francis along, too.”

He squinted. “Maguire? Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

She did not. She’d had too many good customers come straight from funerals and viewings to think that. But she just shrugged, and said, “I don’t know. It may be a comfort to him.”

Corky gave her an odd look, suspicious, or even disapproving. Then he grinned, and shouted for Maguire over the din of the saloon.

+++

Another spasm of propriety stopped Corky at the door of Eva’s room. She couldn’t fathom how he held onto such feelings, even after the war, the fate of his family, and the life of a copper in this city. But surface they did, every once in a while. She didn’t mind. The occasional quiver of reluctance made the things they did together that much sweeter.

“I’ll just let you—“ Corky started.

“Don’t be foolish,” she interrupted. “Francis doesn’t mind the company, do you Francis?”

“No ma’am,” Maguire slurred. He was blearier than Corky, his good eye almost as clouded as his bad. “But why—not that I’m not grateful, sure—but why?”

“Ah, darling,” she said, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “I just don’t like to see you so sad.”

He let it go at that, and she did too, unwilling to think, even to herself, that there might be something of recompense in the act.

+++

Corky followed them into the room and staked out a place by the vanity, glowering down at his own crossed arms as she slipped out of her dress and loosened her stays. Maguire watched her, though, mouth falling open a bit as she pushed him onto the bed and went to work on his belt and trousers. 

“You don’t mind just my mouth tonight, do you, love?” she asked as she bent over him.

The only answer she got was a groan as her lips touched his cock. It crossed her mind that Molly’s mouth might have been the last to precede her there. Morbid, sure—but it gave her a queer kind of thrill, as if she were erasing the past.

Maguire was well into his cups, she realized, and she worried for a moment she might not be able to rouse him. But he was a vigorous man, still young, and after a judicious finger or two behind his balls and into his ass, he was as thick and ready as you please. 

So she licked and sucked to his appreciative moans, conscious not so much of Maguire’s weight in her mouth as of Corky’s hot stare on her withers. He was watching her now, she could feel it; it was one of his favorite views, and she wished she’d thought to remove her bloomers as well. Ah well, that could soon be remedied.

She tugged at Maguire’s hips as she worked him, moving him ‘til she knelt at the very edge of the bed. She doubted he noticed, though when she slid her lips off him, arched her back and looked back over her shoulder, he let out a grunt of protest.

“Liebling,” she said to Corky. “Don’t let Francis have all the fun.” He was watching her just as she’d known he would be—face damp and a little flushed, those full lips parted. “Make it good for me.”

He neither assented nor declined, but she made herself turn back to Maguire, concentrating on taking the hard, hot length of him as deep as she could into her mouth. Pretended her ears weren’t straining to hear the uneven step-drag-step of Corky coming closer.

Her body registered his approach before she did, with a honeyed loosening between her legs. She heard Corky’s belt clatter to the floor and then rough, clever fingers were untying the strings at her waist, pulling the fabric down around her thighs, canting her hips to a better angle. The world tilted and she thought she might be so far gone that the mere touch of his hand made her dizzy. But it was only the mattress dipping to one side with the weight of Corky’s good knee—his bad leg must still be braced unbending on the floor.

Then he was spreading her and pushing inside her and Maguire’s cock was bumping up against the back of her throat and for a moment it was all too much. She was back in her first days in the business, when every surrender to such incursions had been a victory over her own instinct to fight and bite and claw her way free. 

But she learned. Learned that her capacity to take things in was greater than such men could imagine. Learned to use it, so that here she was now a business woman and where were they? Learned even to enjoy it, so that there were times, times like tonight, when she craved the feeling of being filled without ever being filled up.

With a sudden shudder, Maguire spilled into her mouth. She took that in, too, milking him in slow sucks while Corky found a steady rhythm, so far inside her his bollocks slapped against her ass.

As soon as Maguire slid free, though, Corky pulled her hard against him, one hand digging in her cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles above the place where they were joined, just how she liked it. It was one reason she loved him—it was a rare man who could think of a woman’s pleasure before his own.

A moan escaped her, and she ground back against him, losing her control even as Corky lost his, his hips jerking, his free hand sliding under her stays, between her breasts, teeth scraping her shoulder. They overbalanced as he came, falling sideways onto the bed in an undignified tangle of limbs. But she hardly noticed, so suffused was she with the lapping throbs of pleasure spreading through her.

When she caught her breath again, she turned to face him, kissing him wet and open-mouthed, drinking in his taste and smell. _Liebe Gott_ , but she wished she didn’t want this man so much.

Maguire had pushed himself up on his elbows and was frankly watching them. 

“Youse could sell tickets to that,” he said, with a satisfied hiccup of a laugh. “You’d make a fortune.”

“Get away with you.” Corky broke from her to swat at him.

Eva stood. The two men took up most of the space on her bed, and she had no use for spooning after pleasure. She cleaned herself off with the rag and basin she kept for that purpose, and pulled the good whiskey out of its hiding place.

When she glanced back, both men were propped against the headboard. Maguire’s expression teetered between sleepy satisfaction and remembered grief, and Corky had thrown a comforting arm around his neck. 

“Ach, boyo,” Corky murmured, fingers worrying at Maguire’s tight curls. “It’ll be all right, sure; just give it a bit of time.”

Maguire sniffed and knuckled his eyes. Corky pressed his chin into the top of his head and sighed in sympathy.

And why did Molly deserve their tears? she thought, a blade made of something that might've been guilt and might've been contempt nicking at her heart. She let herself imagine for a moment what her grim-faced mother might have to say about the Irish and their self-indulgent displays of sentiment.

Then she shook herself free of the past and poured the whiskey into her best tumblers. She wished her mother joy on her cold, windy farm in Schleswig-Holstein, if she were even still alive. Eva preferred New York. 

“Slainte, fellas,” she said, and passed the glasses to the men in her bed.


End file.
